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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28184778">The Invitation</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/fanfoolishness'>fanfoolishness (LoonyLupin)</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/LoonyLupin'>LoonyLupin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Outer Rim [39]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Mandalorian (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Bittersweet, Dreams, Family, Fatherhood, Gen, Jedi Luke Skywalker, Mandalorian Culture (Star Wars), The Mandalorian (TV) Season 2 Spoilers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:22:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,625</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28184778</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/fanfoolishness, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/LoonyLupin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoilers for the entirety of The Mandalorian S1 and S2.  Din Djarin finds himself in dreams that seem realer than real, reminding him of his loss, but he begins to find a sense of hope again.  A promise is kept.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Din Djarin &amp; Grogu | Baby Yoda</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Outer Rim [39]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2055645</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>397</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Invitation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p></p><div class="center">
  <p> </p>
  <p>    <a href="https://doodlingfoolishness.tumblr.com/post/638013351811760128/ill-see-you-again"></a><br/></p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>    <i>I'll see you again. I promise.</i><br/></p>
</div>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He did not remember when he stopped dreaming of life before his armor.  He was still so young when his dreams first began to show themselves through the filter of a beskar helmet, when he grew used to the sound of his voice slightly muffled and mechanized.  </p><p> </p><p></p><div class="">
  <p> </p>
  <p></p>
  <div class="">
    <p>This dream seemed no different than his usual, at least at first.  Sometimes they were soaring, vivid things; his parents’ faces that final day, memories of battles etched into his body and bones, lessons in his youth with the Covert.  Other times they were merely soft, confused impressions he barely remembered upon waking.  But always there was the familiar sense and weight of beskar.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Din sat now in the <em>Razor Crest</em>, hands resting on the controls.  Something tickled at the back of his mind, a sense that this wasn’t right, but he ignored it.  He checked the navicomputer, setting a course to a planet he didn’t know in a language he couldn’t read, and the starfield stretched before him.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>A small noise beside him caught his attention.  He turned to see Grogu there, poking flashing buttons, a mischievous look on his face.  </p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“Hey now,” he said, with a sternness he didn’t really feel.  “You know better.”  <em>It’s so good to see you, buddy.</em>  He smiled beneath the helmet.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>The child’s ears lowered, the tips brushing his sturdy robes.  He slowly raised his eyes to Din, and something about the way they gleamed, so bright, so <em>present</em>, cut Din to the core.  For a moment, he wondered --</p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The dream shifted, beginning to buckle under the weight of the knowledge that he was dreaming.  The <em>Crest</em> darkened and drifted around them, and he began to forget, began to lose himself.  <em>No!  I want to stay with him -- please --</em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He reached out a hand, blurry in the faltering dream, to try and touch the child’s face one more time --</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He awoke with a start, breathing hard, tears on his cheeks.  He sat bolt upright in his narrow bunk, trying to remember just one more glimpse of the child.  He closed his eyes, fixing the memory as closely as he could.  There were not enough of them.  There would never be enough.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He bowed his head.  <em>He’s safe.  You did the right thing.  The Jedi will protect him.</em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>But the words felt just as hollow now as they did yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that.  The wound was still so fresh; it had only been a few short weeks since the rescue.  He lay awake long into the night, the tears drying on his naked face.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <hr/>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Life continued as ever it did. He’d seen it many times before.  One day your world shattered, the next, you kept going anyway.  He told himself he’d do it again, and again, because what else was there to do but fight forward?  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He knew what he had done on the bridge for the child.  Knew what the Armorer would declare, knew that the Children of the Watch would have rejected him utterly.  Clan Mudhorn would be stricken from the records, the title <em>Mandalorian</em> stripped from his soul.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>But he traveled not with the Children of the Watch now.  He traveled with an heir to the Mandalorian throne, who wore her bare face as proudly as her armor, and when he slowly, cautiously, placed his helmet on once more, beskar still felt like home.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Each morning he tended to his armor: cleaned and polished the beskar with reverence, checked the clothing and leathers for tears, made repairs as needed with a miniature arc torch, with needle and thread.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Each morning he tended to his weapons: performed maintenance on his blaster, topped off fuel levels for the Dragon Flame, carefully adjusted the Whistling Birds, calibrated the Rising Phoenix, gingerly examined the unwanted Darksaber.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Each morning he held a little silver ball, brushing his thumb over its smooth surface, praying his promise had not been a lie.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He kept going.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em>This</em> was the Way.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <hr/>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The sands of Tatooine.  A faint desert smell even through his helmet’s filter, boots sinking into the dunes, Peli Motto’s droids chittering away to themselves.  Din and Grogu sat against the landing gear of the <em>Crest</em>, Grogu leaning against Din’s hip.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Hey there, kid,” Din said softly.  He reached down and stroked the tip of one of Grogu’s long ears.  “You having a good time?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Grogu turned his head and looked steadily at him, face and ears spreading into a small smile. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Din reached into his bag, pulling out cookies for the child.  Perhaps they weren’t the most nutritious food, but Grogu ate plenty of protein, and Din had the extra coin for a treat today.  He handed a cookie to Grogu, a little blue stack of sugar, and the child bit into it, watching him expectedly.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oh, you want --”  Din looked around, searching for shadows, figures.  The droids and the mechanics had melted away.  “You want me to try one?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Grogu’s shoulders jumped up in excitement as he finished his cookie.  Din handed him another, then held one between his gloved fingers, considering.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He lifted his helmet slightly, just enough to expose his mouth, and took a bite.  Grogu let out a sweet little sound, almost like a giggle.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em>Happy,</em> Din thought.  Or felt.  He wasn’t certain how he knew it, but he did.  Was he happy?  Was Grogu?  It was difficult to tell where he ended, where the child began, here in the gritty sand beneath the cloudless skies, here in the dream --  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He woke up reaching for the little silver ball, and clasped it to his chest, remembering.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <hr/>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The dreams, though rare, stayed with him: a humming presence in the back of his mind even as he traveled between far-flung stars, speaking words of war and battle with the other Mandalorians, fighting for a forgotten world.  Things were in motion now that he had never meant, had never dreamed when he was a foundling boy first given his helmet. The Darksaber hung heavy at his hip, a reluctant weight.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He trained with the others in the ways of the Rising Phoenix, in the wielding of the Darksaber, in the history of Mandalore.  It was difficult, sometimes, being around so many after long years spent mostly alone.  But in quiet times, the empty spaces of new journeys, Din studied.  Ways of ancient Mandalore, Ways of different clans whose names he had never heard spoken, new understandings of what the Creed meant.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He found a comfort there: he found a path his own. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He stood on the soil of a dozen different moons and planets.  The mossy loam of Endor, springy beneath each footstep.  The white salt fields of Crait, red sand clinging to his boots.  The rain-worn rocks of Eadu.  The desert sands of Savareen, caressed by ocean waves. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He stood beneath a dozen suns and moons, his helmet cradled beneath his arm.  The wind tossed his hair; the rain lashed his face; the sunlight warmed his cheeks.  He breathed deep of each world, of the scents of fern and tree, wind and water, and he was not ashamed.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He was a Mandalorian.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <hr/>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Din looked around.  The <em>Razor Crest </em>again, each inch of it his well-remembered home.  But his view was not quite the same as he best recalled it.  He reached up.  He felt skin beneath his gloved fingertips, not beskar.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Grogu burbled on his lap, little green hands resting on the instrument bank.  Din bowed over him, his face working into a smile.  He was still learning the different ways his expressions could be used, a skill he had never learned as an adult.  The smile felt clumsy, but Grogu’s delighted coo let him know he had gotten it right.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Grogu,” he said, and the little one leaned against him, safe in his arms.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You like it here, huh?” Din asked quietly.  Memory flickered, filtering in through the comforting warmth of -- was this a dream again?  He faltered.  “I’m afraid I don’t have the <em>Crest</em> anymore.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Grogu gazed up at him, clearly puzzled.  Din closed his eyes.  “They destroyed it.  When they took you away.”  His throat burned, eyes stinging.  How did this feel so <em>real</em>?  So <em>clear</em>?</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Grogu’s ears dropped, his little face falling.  Din took both of the child’s small hands in his, holding them gently.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I’m sorry, Grogu,” he murmured.  “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop them from taking you.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Little hands gripped his own.  A thought, a feeling, a <em>knowing. </em> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>I...  did everything I could.  He understands.</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He held his child until the dream dissolved, and he woke up in the dark, his face damp again.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <hr/>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Weeks drifted into months.  Months threatened years.  He earned new scars, new weapons, a new ship.  The Darksaber still felt foreign, but it was a weight that he could bear, at least for a little while.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The dreams continued, always sporadic, but growing a little clearer, a little longer every time. Sometimes they were on Sorgan, sometimes Nevarro.  More recently, they were starting to be places Din had traveled but Grogu had never seen; and he had not dreamed of the <em>Razor Crest</em> since he’d admitted to Grogu that it was gone.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He wasn’t sure what meaning to ascribe to this.  They were merely dreams, after all, visions crafted by heart and mind and memory. The only strange thing about them was that <em>feeling</em>, that sense of realer than real that left him grieving and grateful both every time he awoke.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>No matter.  He only knew that the dreams comforted him, reminded him of what he still fought for every day. That was enough, wasn’t it?</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <hr/>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He stood on Mandalore, the ruined skies above him, the blasted earth at his feet.  It tore at him.  Bones of the mythosaur had been ground into the dust long ago, and his people’s sorrow was heavy all around him.  He had never been here before.  Had he?</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He turned to Grogu, clinging to his shin, and picked the child up.  In his other arm he held his helmet.  “We don’t fly the <em>Crest</em> anymore, when I meet you here,” he said suddenly.  It hung between them, a query, an accusation.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Grogu gazed at him, Mandalore’s sun glimmering in his eyes.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“... ever since I told you the <em>Crest</em> was gone,” he murmured.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Realization.  Understanding.  <em>He knew what I said.  And the dreams changed.</em>  Din froze, his heart pounding.  <em>Could it --</em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Grogu,” he said carefully.  “Are… are you here?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Grogu clapped his hands together in delight, then reached up, his fingertips brushing against Din’s cheek.  He cooed with contentment.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“How?” Din whispered.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Flashes, fierce and vivid.  <em>Tython.  The seeing stone.  Grogu seeking, seeking --</em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“<em>I’m</em> not a Jedi,” Din said mulishly.  “How could you --”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Grogu leaned against him, tucking his head under Din’s chin.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>Grogu meditating, face calm and concentrating, the Jedi seated beside him --</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em>A heavy stillness in the air, the indefinable sense of something greater; visions of certain places where power flourished, places where the child could </em> <strong> <em>reach</em> </strong> <em> beyond --</em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>The bond between them, a force its own -- his own face shining in the child’s eyes --</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I don’t understand, kid,” said Din desperately, fighting a rising sense of hope, confusion, wonder.  Sunlight slanted through the skies above them, banishing the ruined clouds.  Grogu was content in his arms, curled up, fighting sleep --</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And Mandalore shimmered around them, whole and beautiful once more, falling away into the stars.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <hr/>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Din jerked awake, breathing hard.  He fumbled for the little silver ball, holding it so tightly his fingers throbbed with the beat of his heart.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“It’s him,” he whispered, his voice a faint, shocked murmur sinking into the ship’s stillness.  “Dank <em>farrik</em>, kid!”  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He laughed so hard he nearly choked, tears streaming down his face.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <hr/>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The days arced away, seasons changing between the stars, and he pressed onward.  Beskar was home, foundation, protector, salvation.  He carried it into the greater galaxy with honor.  It gleamed to all, a symbol of Mandalore and the Way.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>But he wore new armor beneath his beskar, secret, sustaining, a burning hope.  Strange he had once forgotten how it felt.  He carried with him a certain knowledge, a joy that bettered the long days beyond measure.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He <em>knew</em> the dreams were real.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He knew, truly, that Grogu had not forgotten him.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <hr/>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>There was a final dream.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Din sat in the grass, gray-streaked hair lifted by the soft breeze beneath a yellow sun.  Birdsong chimed in trees tall and elegant and beautiful.  He scented rich flowers on the air.  In the distance, a temple rose from beyond the trees, its form as natural to the landscape as the hills themselves.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Grogu sat beside him, only a little bigger than Din remembered.  He looked peaceful, calm, assured.  He smiled, ears tipping upward.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I miss you, kid,” said Din simply.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Grogu dipped his head in something like a nod, then leaned against him, sighing.  Din rested his hand on the child’s shoulder, where it belonged.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>A sudden sensation at his side.  Din reached for the silver ball, but it wasn’t there.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It hung before them, gleaming, rotating in the bright sunlight.  It looked just as it did in the waking world, with one side worn smooth and dull from long handling.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Grogu gazed up at him.  The ball spun.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Go on, take it,” said Din.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The ball sank into Grogu’s outstretched hand.  His small face creased into a silent laugh, and he rested his other hand on Din’s leg, a look of focus settling into his expression.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Din closed his eyes.  And he <em>saw</em> --</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He saw a name, clear as day, Aurebesh letters searing into his mind’s eye.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Saw coordinates, precisely laid out, leading to a system, a planet, a temple.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He saw an invitation.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I’ll be there,” breathed Din. He gathered Grogu into his arms.  “As soon as I can.”  They held each other as the sun slipped beneath the horizon, as he slipped back into waking once again.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <hr/>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The ship soared through the air, seeking a point of touchdown.  Din checked the coordinates again, his heart racing.  What if he’d been wrong?  What if all of this was some kind of madness, some trick of the imagination?  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The temple crested the horizon, ringed with those tall, beautiful trees, rising against the sun-soaked hills.  He let out a shaky breath.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He landed near the temple in a flat clearing.  He checked his belt, touched the silver ball once more, and made his way out onto the grass.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Motes danced on the air in the golden sunlight streaming through the trees.  The evening light was warm on his beskar.  Birds in the canopy sang with familiar voices, calling him onward, and he held no weapon in his hands.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>There was a small sound, the tiniest sensation at his hip.  He brushed his hand against his belt.  <em>Where did it --</em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The silver ball hung in the air before him, gleaming in the golden light.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Din stared at it.  His chest rose, then fell, his shoulders heaving.  His vision blurred as he reached for his helmet, as he wiped at his eyes with an unsteady hand.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The ball drifted forward, spinning a perfect orbit along a controlled and steady path.  Din Djarin followed. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He knew his child waited.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <hr/>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The Jedi stood peacefully near the seeing stones, his faithful droid beside him. Far beyond him, two figures approached each other, one small and clad in simple brown, the other tall in shining silver.  For a moment they stopped, frozen, the distance between them miniscule and yet immense. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The Mandalorian sank to his knees, helmet forgotten beside him, arms opened.  The Child stepped forward into the waiting embrace, something silver flashing in his small hand.  And on the gentle breeze, the Jedi heard the sounds of laughter.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>We know that canonically, seeing stones or other places of great Force power can magnify a Force user’s powers, including telepathy.  Din is not Force-sensitive, so he can't reach out for Grogu, but Force users with powerful bonds can reach those they are bonded to more easily.  I like to think that Grogu kept sneaking out of the temple to go sit on the seeing stone and call on Din for visits whenever he could reach his mind in sleep; the more skilled he became, the clearer the dreams got, and the closer Din came to understanding.  I also like to think Luke let Grogu do it, maybe not at first, but definitely by the end of the story — which is how Grogu got the coordinates.  (Luke, after all, has never forsaken his own attachments. 😌)</p><p>I purposefully kept things with the other Mandalorians and the Darksaber vague, but I wanted to show Din still growing and finding peace within himself even without Grogu there with him.  The man's suffered enough, I've got to give him that. 💜 Some time has passed, but it's up to you how long... Din's old enough he could start graying next year, after all ;)</p><p>If they don't reunite those two soon I will absolutely burn this show to the ground.  Or, more realistically, write a lot of fanfic like this to make it better. ;___;</p></blockquote></div></div>
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